


i like you a lot too

by Myke



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, No Spoilers, Not RPF, Parvis being a good boyfriend, Parvis doesn’t do blood magic anymore I think that’s the important thing here, Personal RP, Post Blood & Chaos, Strife overthinking, mentioned blood magic, theyre happy and that’s what matters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26701096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myke/pseuds/Myke
Summary: It’s been a rough week.Five painfully long and sweltering hot days where the clouds did absolutely nothing to shield the sun from making his life a literal living hell.Strife has to wonder what he did to deserve this.———*This is based off of a personal RP I’ve been involved in! Some things might not make sense, but I tried to focus more on their relationship than the specifics of the RP.*
Relationships: Alex Parvis/William Strife
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	i like you a lot too

**Author's Note:**

> My first work! Originally for my RP partner, but I figured I could post it as well! 
> 
> I haven’t finished Blood and Chaos so it’s kind of funny to say this is post B&C when I have absolutely no clue what happens at the end, but! Based off of how we’re playing them in Minecraft, Strife initially builds a house for Parvis after he’s unable to return to his fluxed-over castle. Some chaos ensues once Strife ultimately decides to stay with Parvis, and after they work through some very mentally tasking issues, Strife allows Parvis to move into Solution Tower with him. 
> 
> hopefully I’m not forgetting anything!! ty for reading :)

It’s been a rough week.

Five painfully long and sweltering hot days where the clouds did absolutely nothing to shield the sun from making his life a literal living hell. 

Monday had been... _fine._ Nothing directly affected him unless you want to count Parvis running off at _8 in the goddamn morning_ to who knows where without a single word to anyone. He left so quickly, Strife almost assumed the worst and believed he had an air sigil on him, but after neatly and carefully tearing Parvis’ room apart (as well as his own) and recalling everything they’ve been through, everything they’ve discussed over the past few months and _thoroughly_ convincing himself that Parvis wouldn’t lie to him, not now after all they’ve done to get this far, he can confidently confirm that there’s currently no blood magic within the tower. He didn’t question Parv when he returned. Didn’t badger him like some strict mother sitting awake on her couch, stressed to no end and impatiently waiting for her child to come home from a night of partying. He simply asked, once they sat down for dinner, how his day was to which the response had been, “Oh, really good! I met up with Martyn after, like, a year of not seeing him? And he taught me some cool magic stuff!” 

Strife would’ve physically deflated out of relief if it weren’t for the disgusted grimace on his face from Parvis’ stuffed face and muffled speech. 

So that was Monday. A very tense and panicked day that had been. He won’t tell Parv that, of course. But he’s positive he doesn’t have to tell Parvis how the rest of the week went either. He was there to witness everything unravel before him. 

Tuesday was tame. Not to say it went well, but it was certainly calmer than the first day. The plan had been for Parvis to finally begin working on Botania again while Strife finished up some much-procrastinated-on paperwork. Easy as that. A perfectly scheduled day that couldn’t go wrong. Except that, if the heat hadn’t killed Parvis the previous day while he went out on his own miniature adventure, it certainly had the next day. This only became apparent when the door to his office was thrown open, and a very sweaty and overly distressed man-child tumbled inside while rambling about how it was too hot and that it was impossible to get anything done in that kind of heat. Needless to say, Strife was not pleased to have this newfound company when he desperately needed to focus on this very, _very_ important paperwork about- about— what was it about again? 

He can’t remember...after dramatically draping himself across the desk and complaining about how he was tired and that he “wanted to be with Strifey-kins”, he forced himself into a reluctant Strife’s lap and nuzzled his face into his neck, arms slithering around his waist and breathing gradually slowing down to a steady and soft rhythm against his skin. 

He’s glad Parvis wasn’t awake to see the flustered green glow radiating off his face. Or the way his hand trembled as it struggled to write, let alone hold the pen. Or how he finally set it down with a hefty sigh, defeat written all over his expression as his body moved to lift Parvis, wincing as his back screamed at him from the additional weight. A month or so ago, he would’ve brought Parv to the spare bedroom that he soon declared to be his own, reliving distant memories of nights filled with bloodied bandages and pale skin littered with scars, tired eyes and unshed tears that eventually fell once he returned to his own bed, haunting thoughts that this exhausting routine of finding the blood mage passed out on his altar would never end. That he was eternally cursed to live a life with a responsibility he never claimed to have. 

But now he brings him to his own bedroom. To the bed they’ve been sharing for two or three or four months now. He can’t exactly remember when it started, but they’ve grown accustomed to the change. It came so naturally. He thinks it should unsettle him, but he can’t find a reason to care. 

Enough of that. That was Tuesday. A day full of absolutely no productivity or accomplishment or anything for him to be proud of. He put Parvis to bed at 5 p.m. That’s nothing to be proud of, please. He can do that any day. As for what happened after...well, even when he got the silence he desired, all he could do was stare at the jumbled mess of ink on the document in front of him and think about how Parvis _fell asleep on him._ How the tiniest of hairs on his beard tickled his skin, how his breath was warm and comforting against his neck, how his arms sat so casually on his waist as if that’s where they were meant to be all these years. Tuesday was very unproductive, and it ended with him slipping under the covers around 6:35 p.m., face flushed and expression neutral as he fell asleep two hours later next to a softly snoring Parvis. 

Wednesday and Thursday were a handful. To cut to the chase, Parvis had convinced Strife that the paperwork could wait (how he did that, he’ll never know. he just has a way with words, he supposes. also his lips. he talked a lot with his lips on Strife’s and that is a very convincing argument.) and that they should go on some sort of “mining date”. Diving down into a cave potentially full of mobs, mineshafts, ravines, and more of the like didn’t seem like the most...appetizing date, but, as he said, Parvis convinced him and the next thing he knew, they were thirty levels deep and standing in the middle of a decently sized area lit with torches. Strife was about to press on through another tunnel, spotting some compelling patches of redstone not too far away before an unusually timid voice interrupted him. He turns back, brows furrowed and hand flexing around the disassembler when he notices Parvis digging frantically through his knapsack. 

“What is it?” His voice echoes throughout the stone walls of the cavern. The uneasiness layered underneath the inquisitive tone makes him frown. He hopes Parvis doesn’t hear it. 

“Ah, I don’t— I think I’m out of torches.” Their eyes meet, and Strife can see some glimmer of remorse within the chocolate brown eyes faintly tinted with crimson. It makes him feel better, just a little, but he still feels the annoyance creep up in his chest. He pushes it down in favor of reassuring Parv that they were bound to run out sooner or later. He begins to walk back the way they came, a silent and extremely unnerving Parvis trailing him as he attempts to navigate the tunnels. Once they arrived at a particular ledge they climbed down instead of building off of, Strife turns to Parvis, requesting some cobble to build back up. The annoyance begins to crawl back into his chest when he receives his answer.

“I threw out all the cobble and dirt so we’d have more room for ore.” He can’t blame him. That’s what Strife has been doing too. More ore, more chances to use it for tools, machines, etc.

“Oh...uh. Alright. Then use your disassembler to collect some more. I’ll sort through the ore and get rid of what we don’t need at the moment so we’ll have room for the cobble.” He goes to grab the knapsack, pausing when he sees the way Parvis is averting his eyes and holding the bag to his hip. Away from Strife. To say he looked like a child shying away out of guilt is an understatement. He doesn’t like silent Parvis. As weird as it was to say, silent Parvis means bad things and Strife can’t handle bad things when they happen because of Parvis. 

“Parvis?” Said person shuffles his feet awkwardly and purses his lips, continuing to look away. It takes a few seconds for him to get an answer, but he probably would’ve been better off without one. His head’s starting to hurt. 

“So, a little while ago, my disassembler sort of...ran out of energy? And I didn’t bring any spare pickaxes, so I couldn’t do anything but watch you which is really fun! I like watching you, Strifey, but I haven’t been—“

And this was where he tuned him out. He didn’t want to ask when “a little while ago” was, or how much ore inside of the knapsack was actually Parvis’, or why Parvis was so irresponsible and why did he not check if his disassembler was low before leaving the tower. Too many things to worry about. More things to fix. And that’s where Wednesday bled into Thursday. 

After their mining date ultimately failed, Strife demanded for Parvis to charge his disassembler out of fear that they’d encounter another situation of the like (but they won’t, thankfully, because he won’t let Parv convince him to do something like that again.). Parvis turned sheepish once more, and Strife had sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and holding out his hand. Turns out the disassembler wasn’t just dead but it was _broken_ (how Parvis managed to break one of the sturdiest tools out there, he doesn’t know and definitely doesn’t want to find out.), and while Strife knew what materials were required, what needed to be fixed, and how to get it back up and running again, his brain was clouded with how long he’d have to spend working on something as minuscule as this. Something that shouldn’t have ever happened. But, of course, it’s Parvis. Parvis always finds a way. 

As imagined, he spends the majority of Thursday fixing the disassembler. Paperwork abandoned once more, Strife’s frustration begins to increase as the minutes tick by. He remains hunched over a crafting table, occasionally rubbing at his eyes or standing up straight to stretch only to go right back to working. All the while, Parvis hovers close by, curiously watching him replace parts and throw out others. The company would’ve been enjoyable if he wasn’t constantly thinking about how this is all Parvis’ fault and how Parvis could be doing something much more productive than watching him slave away on _his_ tool. 

He puts his head in his hands. Thursday sucks. _This_ sucks. He was about to tell Parvis off, force him to go do something else that could actually use his attention, but before he can say anything, he feels thin arms worm around his stomach and a heavy warmth spread along his back. 

“Let’s go, Will. I can fix it later, come on.”

That brings a laugh out of him, short, breathless, and genuine because, “How could you possibly know how to fix this?” 

He hears Parvis whine low, his ear tingling from the vibration and the distinct flicker of light dancing across his skin from the close contact. “I’ve made an ME system before, I can totally fix this. Can’t be that hard. Now let’s go.” 

Strife doesn’t give in. Won’t allow himself to be dragged away this time. The breath against his neck is tempting, but he won’t cave. “Parvis, I need to finish.”

He would’ve said more if it weren’t for those _lips pressing against his neck. Shit._ Now his hands are sliding up to fiddle with the buttons on his vest and he knows this is going to go somewhere if he doesn’t stop it, but they aren’t living in the past anymore and he doesn’t have to restrain himself. Doesn’t have to worry if Parvis reciprocates his feelings or if he’s lying or if this is all fake just so he can feel used in the end. It’s real. 

And it’s become a game between the two of them now; a tug-of-war to see who can hold out the longest before toppling over to the opposite side. It aggravates him because he knows he’ll never win. Not when Parvis turns him around and pushes his body against Strife’s, lips locked together, hips grinding effortlessly and the most pathetic, desperate, so _needy_ of noises escaping both of them. His hand grabs onto the table behind him, the other pushing against Parvis’ chest and separating the two so they could get some air. 

“You asshole.” That earns him a smirk. “You just can’t wait, can you.” 

“You know I get impatient when you’re not paying attention to me.~” Their noses touch and Parvis brings them together for a second time, his hands beginning to work at Strife’s belt. 

Wednesday had been a shitty day. Thursday was almost just as shitty. But even as they lie in bed, Parvis pressed close and his head resting in the crook of Strife’s neck, hand gently carding through his blonde unkempt hair, he can’t help but to think of that damn paperwork. 

He shouldn’t even mention Friday. At this point, Strife knew that if he had gone an entire four days without accomplishing anything, then Friday was a lost cause. Which...it was, yes, but he can’t complain. It _was_ nice. Parvis was considerate enough to leave him be and avoided any work that would put him in the sun’s line of sight, so he stayed inside and remained far away from Strife’s office. 

That is, until he didn’t. 

He doesn’t see it as odd if he sometimes questions their relationship. He doesn’t think it’s wrong to doubt Parvis and if he’s going to still be committed in a week after they share a kiss or spend an evening together wrapped in each other’s arms. He’s not used to this. Being in a relationship. Being together. Being...boyfriends. The term makes them sound so childish. Like teenagers. He doesn’t trust it. But Parvis has proven his concerns wrong time and time again by being open and honest, keeping a ten-foot pole between him and blood magic, showing how good and trustworthy of a partner he can be even if he still has some of the same tendencies he used to have back when they first met. So excuse him if he refuses to believe that Parvis, _the Alex Parvis_ who relentlessly teases him and is, most of the time, selfish, has brought him a cup of coffee with news that he’s finished fixing his disassembler. 

“You _what?_ ” He knows Parvis is smart, but his laziness is what makes him unreliable and stupid. Three days into Botania at their old base and he was already whining about how he was sick of it and didn’t know what else to do. It’s not a surprise at all that he doesn’t believe him. 

“It wasn’t that hard!” He waves a hand playfully, and then drops it with a nervous laugh after seeing the deadpan expression on Strife’s face. “Okay, it was a _little_ hard. Maybe not as bad as the ME system or the jetpacks, and you had started on it already, so there wasn’t much left to do, but I did it! Parvy Parv finished it all on his own!” He set the mug of coffee down on the corner of Strife’s desk and walked around to stand behind him, placing his hands on his shoulders and massaging them lightly. “Have you gotten any of your boring stuff done?” 

He hums, neither confirming or denying, but instead relishing in the much needed pressure on his shoulders. He leans back against the chair, closing his eyes and exhaling something relaxed and content through his nose. “I’ve finished a good amount of my _boring stuff._ There’s not much left to do, but I just...don’t want to do it.” 

A half smile works its way onto his lips when he hears the dramatic gasp above him. “Strife doesn’t want to do his _work?_ This is unbelievable. Unheard of! Do you need a doctor?” His eyes open to send a weak glare Parv’s way and that high-pitched, bubbly giggle that makes his head spin fills the room. He’d much rather listen to that all day instead of the poisonous silence that brings unwanted thoughts with it. 

“I know, I know. I don’t know what’s up with me. ‘M pretty sure I could’ve been done with all this by now. My head’s just not working with me today.” He’s been distracted ever since he realized that Parvis wouldn’t be pestering him today. No loud noises beyond the door, no one barging in, no disruptions at all. All he could focus on was the fact that Parvis wasn’t here. But now that he is, he feels like he _could_ finish his work, but there’s an itch inside of him that’s finally been satiated and it wants him to do absolutely nothing for the rest of the day. That’s...slightly frustrating. Is this what being in a relationship does to people? Makes them suffer and constantly floods their brain with only thoughts of their partner? As if everything else didn’t matter. He never procrastinates. Has never been lazy. He gets the job done when it needs to be done and that’s that. But ever since they made things official, he’s been slacking an awful lot and Parvis could probably call him out on it, but he won’t ask if he’s noticed anything different just for his own sake. It should be obvious that both of them have altered their lives in some form or fashion whether that’s their habits, personalities, or living arrangements. It’s so different now. He doesn’t think he has a problem with how Parvis has changed his life. He thinks he kind of likes it. 

“Parvis?” He grabs the mug, smirking at the bold black letters sloppily scribbled across the ceramic that read _**World’s Best CEO**_.

“What?” He feels Parv’s chin dig into the top of his head. Not uncomfortably. It makes his eyes feel heavy as he takes a sip of coffee before responding. 

“Would you call me crazy if I said I wanted to go lie in bed with you for a while?” The white ceramic of the mug has a faint green hue to it now as his body instinctively reacts to the embarrassing set of words. Yeah, lots of things have changed. He’s surprised he even said it out loud. 

Parvis’ arms slide down around his neck and he hums thoughtfully. Strife wishes he could see the look on his face. He’s never the one to initiate anything. It’s not his style and he’d never admit it to Parvis, but he’s not exactly...experienced in that field. This whole relationship business has still got his wires twisted every which way, but he thinks he’s smart enough to recognize when he wants to be with Parvis, as strange as that sounds. 

“I’d call you nuts first, yeah, and then I’d ask if you actually needed a doctor because where’d you put the real Strife, huh?” There’s genuine disbelief in there somewhere, stacked under layers upon layers of teasing and wittiness. He doesn’t focus too much on it. The coffee is warm and made just to his liking. Parvis’ voice is also warm when he speaks again. “But then I’d give you a kiss-“ His lips are on his cheek and he nearly chokes on the mouthful of caffeine. “And I’d say let’s go! The bed’s gettin’ cold, Strifey!” 

He’s halfway across the room when Strife pipes up, false aggravation in his voice as he chases Parv with a demand to let him finish his coffee first. He takes another sip. Friday had been good. Although there wasn’t anything spectacular to brag about that either of them had done (no, he will not give in and say that Parvis fixing his own disassembler was impressive.), it was still a rather peaceful day. Like he said, he can’t complain. 

It _was_ nice.

And now they’ve made it to Saturday. The weekend that doesn’t feel much deserved, but is welcomed greatly. 

Last he checked, the alarm clock read sometime around 5 a.m. to which he promptly ignored and proceeded to curl right back up into Parvis’ side. Now that the beginnings of consciousness have begun to hit him, he can’t tell how long it’s been since then. He’s vaguely aware of the fingers in his hair, maintaining a steady rhythm by starting at his hairline, giving extra attention to his scalp, and then removing themselves once they reach the back of his head only to repeat the process over and over again. He could practically feel himself slipping back into the dark, dreamless void that is sleep. Alas, the single thought of paperwork lying dormant on his desk is what forces him awake, and the fingers come to a halt as his head moves. His throat vibrates, a noise of complaint escaping him, and there’s faint laughter along with a muffled comment that he’s too drowsy to decipher. The dim lighting of the lanterns fills his vision and he brings a hand to his face, rubbing away any sleep that dares to pull him back under. 

“You finally up, sleepyhead?” Parvis’ voice is soft, like fluffy cotton candy dipped into golden honey that makes his stomach twist into knots from how utterly sweet he can be. His hands, his eyes, his everything, it’s all so soft when he wants them to be and it drives him up the wall how someone so sour can be full of such sweetness. He doesn’t give him enough credit. 

“What time is it?” His words drag, and he’s pretty sure he sounds drunk or at least sounds like he’s in the midst of a hangover. 

He feels Parvis shift, looking over at the alarm clock presumably, and settles once more. “I don’t think you wanna know, so let’s just say it’s 8 a.m. and agree to get up in an hour. Sound good?”

Strife moves his head and raises a brow at Parv, unsatisfied with the answer and checking himself to see the red digits screaming 11:08 a.m. His groan is cut short by Parvis’ hand cupping over his mouth and an annoyingly drawn out _shhh_ to silence him. “It’s fiiiine, Will. Just relax for once. You have, like, a trillion more days ahead of you! You can get plenty of work done then.” 

He grabs Parv’s wrist and moves the hand, scoffing once his mouth is free. “Yeah, no, not when I have to spend those trillion days with _you._ Speaking of, all I’ve done is relax ever since we—“ The words catch in his throat, his cheeks heating up and his eyes looking anywhere else but Parvis. As if that’ll do anything. He’s laying on top of the guy and they’re both half naked. No hiding here. “Ever since we...got together.” 

Parvis’ heavenly soft voice has now turned into the most irritating thing he’s ever heard as he lets out a high _aaawwww!_ Ah, yes, this must’ve been one of the reasons why he initially refused to go out with him. He rolls his eyes and removes himself from Parvis, settling with laying next to the man instead of giving him the satisfaction that Strife had slept on top of him. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

Parvis immediately slides up next to him and hugs his arm, rubbing his head affectionately against his shoulder. “Insufferable also means a good boyfriend. I know that much. And besides, you would be lonely without good ole Parv by your side.” 

He scoffs again, turning over on his side and shaking Parvis off in the process. “Yeah, right.” The words are followed with a yawn, and he wonders why he’s so tired after physically doing barely anything all week. He hasn’t gone days without sleeping like he used to do nor has he overworked himself. If Parv’s laziness is rubbing off on him, he swears…he glances at the alarm clock, the glowing red numbers glaring back at him, taunting him, ridiculing him for staying in bed for so long. He should get up. He _should_ get up. His arms push up from beneath him and he dangles his legs over the side of the bed, sighing as he listens for any sign that Parvis hasn’t fallen back to sleep and given up on teasing Strife. When he doesn’t hear anything for a solid minute, he looks over his shoulder and sees the wide brown eyes that were once stained over with red staring up at the ceiling. “What’re you doing?” 

Those imperfect brown eyes meet his own pair of glistening green and it takes everything he has to not break the contact. They stay like that for a little bit until Parvis smiles, full of love and too many mushy emotions that Strife has never seen the ex-blood mage display before. Didn’t realize he was capable of displaying them at all, to be honest. His mouth opens and the world sort of...stops. 

“Just thinkin’ about how much I love you.” 

They rarely use the phrase. Strife is pretty sure he’s said the word less than ten times around Parvis. After getting together, Parvis has said the phrase at least three times, this one being the third even though it’s fitted into a sentence and not directly said to him. It still counts. And it makes his face heat up, eyes growing wide and hands clenching at the comforter for some purchase so he won’t sink into the floor when he stands. He turns away, avoids those damn brown eyes with traces of crimson surrounding the pupil and he swallows hard. Why does he have to say it? _Why?_ Isn’t that a phrase people wait to use until they’re, like, a year into their relationship? How does he know he really loves him? Parvis can stand Strife that much? He never gets tired of him? Is _he_ gonna get tired of Parvis? 

_How the hell do people get married when they have to go through this shit?_

…

_THEY AREN’T GOING TO GET MARRIED, ARE THEY?_

He’s thinking too far ahead. The point is...that phrase holds a lot of weight, an _immense_ amount of weight, and Strife doesn’t think he’s ready to say it back, but that won’t hurt Parvis’ feelings, will it? He’s a tough guy, he’s smart enough to know why Strife wouldn’t say it. But what scares him is how easy it is for Parv to say it. He’s so confident, so sure, and that’s what makes him think that this is just some game to Parvis. But they’ve been through this. They came clean, they confessed, laid everything out on the table and acknowledged how the other felt. They were happy, relieved. He can’t ever forget the look of pure joy on Parvis’ face when Strife finally admitted that he felt the same way. That should be enough. Parvis is just...quicker to come to terms with his feelings. He’s always been confident. It’s not a surprise he’d say it first, let alone three times. 

He inhales deeply, closes his eyes, and lets it out. He nods.

“I…I like you a lot too...Alex.” 

Parvis makes him some more coffee. He doesn’t mention the phrasing, or how his first name was used, or how his bashfulness makes him easy to tease. Nothing. And Strife is thankful. It’s a silent understanding and it eases the mental pacing he’s been doing ever since Parv said it last time. 

He thinks things will turn out fine. That he’ll say he loves him when he’s finally ready. Or maybe it’ll slip out accidentally. Who knows. They’ll go on hundreds of dates, Parvis will endlessly tease him like always, they’ll go on walks, talk things out, kiss and make up, the whole nine yards. It feels weird to say, especially since he never thought in a million years he’d actually say it, but as the days pass by, he realizes he really _does_ enjoy being with Parvis, even if he continues to annoy him and acts like a child and can’t ever take care of himself. But that’s just how they function. 

Even as he stands in the bathroom mirror, straightening his tie while Parvis sneaks up behind him to plant a kiss on his cheek, he thinks maybe the week wasn’t as bad as he made it out to be.


End file.
